


Kiss Me Too Fiercely

by Roshwen



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Cassandra has Issues, Depression, Implied Suicide Planning, Jake has a possessive streak, Multi, This all works out just fine, Warnings apply though, anger issues, implied self harm, such as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 10:43:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roshwen/pseuds/Roshwen
Summary: Gentle touches, soft kisses, tender words of admiration and love whispered into her skin. Cassandra adores it.Sometimes though, all this softness makes her want to scream.





	Kiss Me Too Fiercely

**Author's Note:**

> So, this took a bit of a darker turn than I expected... I still like how it turned out, though. Please enjoy and for constructive criticism and incoherent yelling please come find me on [tumblr!](http://www.hedgehog-o-brien.tumblr.com)

Gentle touches, soft kisses, tender words of admiration and love whispered into her skin. Cassandra adores it.

She loves the way Jake presses warm kisses into her shoulders while he murmurs about _you_ and _sweetheart_ and _Cassie._ The words slide like velvet against her skin, a physical sensation that feels just as real as his hands. And when those hands go lower, when they are fluttering deep inside her and pleasure washes over her with every stroke, he holds her, kisses her until she can barely breathe and looks at her with infinite wonder.

She loves how Ezekiel can never resist kissing her forehead when they are close. Whether they are just talking in the Annex or whether they have locked the door behind them and are about to _take a break_ from their Library work, he always cups the back of her head, pulls her close and drops a brief kiss on her head. Merely a peck of lips, nothing more but the tenderness he lays behind it takes Cassandra’s breath away every time.

Granted, it took a bit of getting used to. After years and years of being alone, it took a while to get used to people touching her, liking her, even _wanting_ her. But they’ve crossed that hurdle, to everybody’s delight and now not a day goes by without at least one of her boys coming over to her for a quick hug, a stolen kiss or even more. And when the day ends and the case is solved and the artefact safely hidden away in the Library, they go home. There, in Ezekiel’s kingsize bed or in Jake’s (slightly smaller, but somehow sturdier) double, they love her until all the numbers in her head come to a stop and there is nothing left but the three of them.

They never treat her like she’s fragile, though. If they did that, she would not be able to stand the feather light touches to her cheek, the ghosting of lips across hers. Instead they hold her like she’s a priceless work of art, a magnificent piece of jewelry. Something so precious they can scarcely believe they get to touch her.

After the surgery, they hold her a little tighter for a while. But then again, so does she and that makes it okay. Makes it _good._

It’s just that sometimes.

Sometimes all this _softness_ makes her want to scream.

Because Cassandra is a great many things. She can be soft, yes. She cries during Disney movies and she stops for small animals and she loves curling up in an oversized chair with a cup of tea and a Georgette Heyer novel (don’t tell Jake, because he _will_ go on a rant about Regency romance authors and you _will_ regret it). She likes warm sweaters and hot cups of tea and when someone tells her, all teary eyed and shocked, that they didn’t _mean_ to start a magical apocalypse but that it just _happened_ and _what is going on I don’t understand,_ she smiles and nods and tries her best to calm them down because despite the imminent destruction of the world, there is always, _always_ time for kindness.

But Cassandra isn’t _just_ that.

When she was fifteen and led into an office where a doctor was waiting for her with a sad smile and a death sentence, she cried for about two days straight. After that, she started screaming. She had to stop when her voice finally gave out, to the great relief of everyone in the hospital ward, but the anger, the overwhelming _fury_ at the unfairness of it all had burned even hotter. Only when her parents, helpless at the sight of their once prodigy child reduced to a spitting ball of rage, had suggested she might want to see a therapist or support group or _something,_ Cassandra had laughed.

Her parents did not ask her again.

Cassandra moved out shortly after that.  In the years that followed, there was no softness anywhere to be found. No one gently murmured into her ear if she could please mop up the spill in the toilets on the fourth floor, no one kissed her hand as they shoved her out of the way because there was somewhere more important to be. It was a cold and lonely life, downright miserable at times, and the only things that kept her going was the angry fire in her gut and the knowledge that at least this life would not last long.

Sometimes, though, the fire went out and the entire world went grey. She was left so cold and numb that she would do _anything_ to be able to feel something again. She did consider seeing a therapist then, but she thought about the stash of pills labeled ‘My choice’ in her medicine cabinet and decided against it. She never told her boys either. They don’t need to know. It won’t happen again.

The point is, Cassandra has seen enough of the world and lived through enough of it to revel in the luxury of affection. But sometimes she needs _more_.

Most of the time, Jake’s murmured praise and Ezekiel’s kisses are all she needs, everything she wants.

But sometimes, the fire in her gut burns low and greyness starts creeping in at the edges of her vision and she finds herself holding her cup of boiling hot tea too tight with both hands. On those days, when her boys grab her hands and take her home, she desperately wants to tell them that gentleness is just not going to cut it tonight. She can’t though, because that would mean telling them the whole depressing story and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be ready for that.

Perhaps that’s the reason she is now flirting with a very pretty bartender while Jake is silently working himself up into a fury of possessive rage behind her and Eve and Ezekiel try to stop a crooked bookie who has somehow gotten a hold of a magic mirror ( _Mirror mirror on the wall, what is the fastest horse entered for this year’s Kentucy Derby. Of them all)._

In her defense, she hadn’t _meant_ to. And she _knows_ what she’s doing is manipulative, and wrong and that if there’s something you need in a relationship, you talk about it and do not go off to smile at handsome strangers and tell them they remind you of Natalie Dormer. Even if they do. At least she is honest, because when the bartender gets a bit too into it, Cassandra smiles again, takes her hand and tells her to take a look at the very angry guy with porcupine hair somewhere behind her. And, if she can spot him, the hyperactive Australian guy with the grin that’s too big for him as well.

The bartender smiles back, squeezes Cassandra’s hand and asks if these guys are hers, and if so, that Cassandra is a very lucky girl. But then why is she sitting here, the bartender wonders, staring wistfully into a virgin mojito (they are on a mission, after all, even though Eve and Ezekiel seem to have everything under control).

Before Cassandra can formulate an explanation, though, Jake is standing next to her. She can practically feel the anger radiating off of him like waves of heat and it feels like coming home to a blazing fire on a freezing day. When he grabs her hand, his grip is so tight it hurts and when he growls at her that they are going home _right now,_ his voice isn’t velvet but it’s steel, hard and sharp and the edges scrape against her skin.

It’s one of the best things she’s ever felt.

And when they get home, and Jake pins her against the wall and kisses her hard, his mouth bruising on hers and his fingers tangling painfully in her hair, Cassandra can finally see the color seeping back into the world. It’s in Jake’s voice as he tells her _mine_ in a dark red tone. It’s in the rip of cotton as he tears her shirt off and her skirt and panties down. It’s in his grip as he bodily lifts her up and carries her to the bedroom, almost throwing her down when they get to the bed and wasting no time in climbing in on top of her.

There is no more foreplay this time; Jake just starts fucking her, hard and fast and _just_ the right side of painful and for once, Cassandra holds nothing back. She digs her nails into his back, bites down on his shoulder and then lets go again to scream as she feels the orgasm wind tighter and tighter inside her.

When she’s come twice, once shouting on Jake’s cock and once, barely a minute later, whimpering on his fingers (because they always, _always_ make sure she comes at least twice. She doesn’t know why, but she’s not complaining), she crawls into his arms, completely physically and emotionally spent, with barely enough energy left to mutter a sorry.

‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ Jake murmurs, his voice back to velvet again as he draws her close, stroking her hair as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. ‘Just next time, you tell us what you need, okay?’

Which makes Cassandra wonder if her boys know her actually a lot better than she thinks.

She’s certain of it the next morning, when she finds Ezekiel at the breakfast table with a box and a wide grin. After she’s kissed him goodmorning and pretended not to notice he hugged her a bit tighter than usual, he hands her the box and tells her that she doesn’t have to pick just one, but that he wants her to know that there are more options than to ‘let the cowboy pound you into the mattress whenever you feel a bit down’.

While the cowboy in question objects and tells Ezekiel that the mattress pounding seemed to work just fine last night, Cassandra opens the box to find a pair of boxing gloves, a list with phone numbers from therapists who, Ezekiel assures her, are _very_ discreet, and a pair of handcuffs. When she fishes these out and looks at Ezekiel, he grins even wider, then shrugs and says: ‘Yeah, like I said. More options here than just our cowboy.’

Cassandra has never loved her boys more.


End file.
